Is It Wrong To Be a Hero in the Dungeon?
by SlipSpace2
Summary: Heroes are long dead, only adventurers remain. Two people from different lives will seek to enter the Dungeon, Unblessed and unknown.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Orario is the place of adventurers and gods, a magnificent city who's pride stretches far into the heavens. It's size dwarfs any other city and it's sheer power makes it a city-state on it's own. It is truly the resting place of power within our world, where the strongest gather and rise. Those looking to improve themselves, no matter the occupation, all travel to Orario searching for self-metamorphosis. The ultimate expression of this growth, then, is the gift of the Gods.

Falna, the blessing of ascendance.

A few marks and glyphs, made sacred by drops of divine ichor, that change the experiences of the blessed into nothing less than superhuman powers. To shatter steel with only a fist, to survive the poison of a Cockatrice, and to cast hailstorms of fire: these are the feats of those blessed with the ability to change their own fate. These are the adventurers of Orario's Familias, the strongest mankind has to offer. Those few able to survive and grow from the seemingly eternal dungeon beneath the city, to find riches and fame undreamed of.

And yet, they are not the only ones who delve into the inky blackness of the Dungeon, seeking all it has to offer. Men and women who journey without the blessing of the gods and have to fate-changing power but their own two hands. They believe, with enough effort and with enough will, that they can achieve even a small fraction of a Familia's accomplishments. That somehow, despite all odds, they can become a _hero._

Spitting in the face of logic and reality, seeking to sit on the same level as the Gods' chosen while biting the hands of the divine.

Those poor deluded fools.

Every time those rare madmen delve into the cavernous maw, they fail to return. Crushed to a paste, choking on some toxin, or merely bleeding out cold and alone: they lose their lives in naive fantasy. They leave behind no one to mourn them, no grieving widows and no bawling children. They had nothing to lose and yet, still lost.

How bleak. How hopeless. How _pitiful_.

These were the thoughts of every Orario citizen at one point or another, whether they saw someone try to become an adventurer without a god or saw a sheet-clad gurney pulled from the Dungeon.

When the Gods first descended, however, this thought was held by few and far between. The legends of heroes like Gilgamesh, Argonaut, and Beowulf still stood stark in common memory, great heroes who slew and saved without the blessing of Gods or the will of the divine. People who relied on only their cunning, strength, and wit to carve their names into the annals of history.

As deaths persisted and grew in number however, the tide began to turn. Those world changing heroes were no longer staking claims with only human ambition, instead propped by ichorous ink. The slaying of a great beast no longer came from one woman, rather her familia led by an impossibly charismatic God. Heroes were no longer, replaced by adventurers: stagemen and celebrities in a divine play.

At some point in time, the formation and official stance of the Guild backed this up: that those Unblessed were simply not allowed to enter the Dungeon. It was too dangerous; even if they did come back, the reward would be far too little for so great a risk.

The Dungeon and the surrounding city was no longer a place to have an adventure, rather, it was a resource to be extracted profitably and efficiently as divinely possible. A business manual, not a storybook.

And yet, some still dare to draw and write in their books, to craft stories of epic might and mystery from naught but the creativity of the human soul. To experiment and try new things, learning all they can from the unnatural world. To forge forth with only morals and will in search of their next break.

To _adventure_, to _be heroes_.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - A Fortunate Delay

Tufts of white hair toss about in the wind, jostling and jumping with each dip in the road. It sits atop a boy just beginning to change into a man, gangly and thin limbs uncomfortably curled into himself. Inset into his pale skin are two crimson eyes, brilliant but lessened by half-lidded eyes and dark bags. The people next to him are uncomfortably tight, an occasionally large bump causing bodies to collide, restricted by the weathered wood of the wagon.

This road has been a long one, nearly two weeks in length. Meager meals and muddied water certainly didn't help either, while scant hours of sleep doing little to pass the hours. He had even caught a nasty cough a few days earlier from one of the fellow passengers, wracking fits and wheezes making sleep all the more precious. He had paid a fair amount for this trip, the last of his savings. And yet, he knew in his heart it was worth it.

This wagon, all the people on it (including himself), and the cargo it carried were all only a day's travel out from that shining city of dreams, where he could finally start to fulfill his promise to both his Grandfather and his childhood ideals:

Orario.

He could hardly wait, his bony shoulders trembling in excitement. He thought about all the adventures he would be able to go on, the beasts he would fight… the girls he would-

His thoughts came to an abrupt stop as the wagon violently lurched forward and to a halt. The man next to him nearly shot out, owing his continued attendance only to the boy's quick reflexes and tight grip. Only receiving a nod in thanks, the boy stood up and gazed at the cause of the upset.

'_Are you… serious?', _he thought with an exasperated sigh, both hands running down the sides of his face.

In front of him was, plain and simple, another in a long line of delays. The horses at the front were scattered and panicky, tails whipping in a fury. The wagon front was off kilter, leaning hard towards its front right side. Now off the wagon and beside the leaning side was the teamster, hands thoroughly within their own hair and pulling with no small amount of force.

The boy walked up to teamster, hefting himself off the wagon with a huff. He stooped low to the man, putting a hand on his shaking shoulders and asking, "Hey… are you gonna be alright?"

"Am I gonna be alright, am I gonna be alright!" he whined, "Look at this!" he jerked his arm towards the broken wheel, now laying halfway in the hole responsible for its sudden independence.

Silently nodding, white hair bounced up and down in silence until the high-pitched screeches began again, "There's no way to fix this wheel and we're only a few hours out from Orario! Damn roads, damn wheel, damn it all!" With his consternation reaching a fever pitch, he kicked the side of the wagon angrily and yelped even louder.

Realizing the issue, the boy bemoaned his fate. He was so close to Orario! So close to his dreams! Only to be stopped by this damn wheel!

He was starting to sound like the teamster.

Trying to be optimistic, he asked, "Is there anything I could do to help?" He doubted it, but he had some experience with woodworking in his old village, so maybe if the man had some tools, he could…

"Not unless you've got a set of tools or, even better, a wagon wheel on you," came the dejected reply.

_Drat. There goes that idea._

"No dice, huh kid? Well, either you're gonna have to lift the wagon or everybody's hoofing it," the teamster said sardonically.

"Maybe I can help with that," came a deep voice.

Just a few feet down the road, heading towards them, was a man with a short stature and a large beard of auburn hair. He was clad in armor and carried himself in a humble sort of way, despite the obvious strength that radiated from him. Even as he walked, it appeared that, rather than moving on the earth, he moved the earth around him.

_An adventurer! He must be a Dwarf, I've only ever heard about them._

Gazing in awe, the boy watched the dwarf walk up in front of them and speak again in a surprisingly soft tone, "Need some help, do ya?"

"No, everything's just great!" replied the teamster, exasperation breaking through even more now.

Seemingly unfazed, the bearded man began again, "You mentioned somethin' 'bout carrying that wagon?"

Skeptical, the teamster looked the dwarf up and down, and seemed about to voice concern, but was interrupted by the pair of sparkling red eyes,

"Can you do that? Are y-you an adventurer, sir?" the dwarf's newest fan tumbled over his words in his excitement, some coming out half-finished and others repeated.

With a hearty laugh, he confirmed the boy's suspicions, "Why yer looking at none other than Gareth Landrock, Adventurer of the Loki Familia! I was just headin' back from a trip fer my Familia and I'd be happy to carry that wagon your on the rest of the way to Orario… fer a price o'course." At that last part, Gareth's left eye opened from its usual half-lidded state and he held out a gauntleted hand towards the teamster.

The teamster looked shocked at the proposition of money, and began, "That's ridiculous! I'm not going to pay some adventurer to carry my wagon while I could easily go to the town over and get it fixed. The mere fact that-"

Looking back towards the other passengers while the thin man continued his dignified defense, the teen saw the other customers talking amongst themselves, disgruntled over yet another delay. Some of them angrily whispered to those around them, while a few others looked at the small chest by the side of the teamster's seat. Some did both.

The boy looked back to the thin owner of said seat, who was continuing to scream and holler at Gareth. Nervously, he tapped his shoulder. Once. Twice. Each time he used more force, until he was essentially just chopping the man on the shoulder. And then, upon finally getting his attention, he meekly pointed to the passengers.

Upon seeing them, the man froze and looked back from Gareth to the passengers a couple times. Each time he looked back, he had a more frustrated look on his face, finally replaced with desperation the final time. With a sigh, he climbed back up onto the wagon and began to root through the small chest, eventually hopping down with a heavy, jingling sack in his hands.

"How much did you say it was again?"

Gareth gave another hearty laugh at this and slapped the boy on his back, the force echoing through his bones.

"I like you boy. Gotta good head on your shoulders! What's your name?"

"Bell. Bell Cranel, sir!"

* * *

Bell had talked with Gareth most of the way to Orario, constantly asking him questions about being an adventurer. Who were his teammates, what weapon did he use, what Level was he? All of which the dwarf answered without hesitation, and then asked some of his own in turn.

Slightly shifting the laden wagon on his shoulder, he looked over to Bell,

"Yer first time in Orario then?" Gareth rumbled.

"Yes! It's honestly my first time in a city, even." Bell chriped.

"What're ya lookin' to do here?"

"I want to become an adventurer, Mr. Landrock, sir!" Bell said with a hopeful determination.

"Should have guessed that, with all yer questions. Ya know adventuring is a dangerous thing, right lad?" This time his voice was less jovial, now laced with a cautious criticism.

Bell didn't reply verbally this time, instead nodding his head in a slow silence.

"And you know you're likely to die?"

Bell nodded his head again, this time much slower.

"Then why're ya pursuing such a fool thing?" His voice had hit an all-time low, yet was the loudest Bell had yet heard.

Without a hint of hesitation, Bell defiantly replied, "Because I want to save people! I want to vanquish evil in the world! I want to become a beacon of hope for others! I want to be relied on! Because I want to be a hero!

At that, Gareth nearly dropped the wagon.

After re-re-adjusting the load, he looked at Bell for a good few minutes or so. His brow was heavily furrowed and Bell thought he looked to be in both a state of surprise and contemplation.

The rest of the trip to Orario was silent, Graeth refusing to speak to Bell, save for one word replies to the scant questions he asked.

Bell was incredibly worried. Did his reply make Gareth mad somehow? Should he have not asked about his favorite food, after all, he never replied to that one! The white-haired boy was breaking down while walking beside the adventurer, muttering to himself with wide, panicked eyes.

Eventually, they arrived at the city gates and Bell momentarily broke from his stupor.

_Orario!_

It's walls of grey stone reached into the sky as a great ring, encircling the city within. Faint trails of smoke could be seen rising above them, presumably from the houses and businesses it held within its stone arms. Unhidden behind that barrier, however, was a tower of tremendous height spearing into the sky, a lance of rebellious earth piercing the heavens.

Bell had never seen such a wall nor such a tower and stood in awe. To him, his hopes were the heavens, clouds of heroism that laid their burden on that monolith of stone. The pathway to his dreams was Orario and its dungeon. There was no other way.

He stared at that beacon while Gareth unloaded the cart. While the teamster angrily went into the town. He stared for a long while until Gareth finally broke the spell by tapping his shoulder.

"Come with me." he commanded and began to walk into the city.

Struggling to catch up with the dwarf's surprisingly fast strides, Bell panted, "But where are we going?"

"To make you a hero, ya damn fool."


	3. Chapter 2

**/A/N Start/**

**Heyo! **

**I know it's weird for me to be doing this whole… "author's note" thing, but I figured you guys would dig it, so here we are.**

**Oh , I also wanted to say this: please review! Whenever I get a review, it's such a great well of inspiration to write the next chapter, and it's also cool to see if you guys might have any suggestions for the story or my writing in general.**

**So ya know, I'd appreciate it.**

**Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy it!**

**/A/N End/**

Chapter 2 - Depths Beyond

Something tickles at the edge of his perception. A slight feeling that starts in his lungs and creeps in, spreading through a warm tide. Where it passes, he can feel again. Lungs shallowly take in air and exhale, bringing each wave of heat. Up his throat like coals and against his face like a midsummer shower.

He sighs in a slight tremor of comfort, but all that comes is a wracking cough, bringing with it heat and stoking the coals.

He breathes again and the coals jump into tongues of flame.

A boiler within roars, a torrent of scalding sea replacing pleasant air.

Lungs wrack even louder this time, so loud he can finally hear it. At the edges of his perception, as if his own lungs were a mile away.

For a moment, the flood stops. Time to think, to perceive his body on cold stone, like jagged ice. Time to feel faint sparks in his hands and feet, juttering and twitching. He can begin to feel light pass through his eyes, a dim blue-

Eruption.

Searing pain, like hellfire.

Droplets fly from his mouth, sticking to his body.

He can feel the heat on his legs now, sparks clinging to his skin.

Sticky, red embers.

Oh gods, he's dying.

Everything slams back in full force at that moment, amnesia wiped away by a cleansing flame. He remembers how things led to this, what 'this' was, and where 'this' happened. A simple job, he remembers. Adventurers, notorious for their foolhardy nature, were likely to have riches ripe for the picking. Having caught a caravan down, they set out from the Under Resort on the 18th floor, trailing their victims. One small slip up was all it took and they would be rich, they would be free fro-

The flame surges to life again, bringing hacking and groans.

Right, 'would'.

They hadn't expected to be the ones to slip up. Made too much noise, he thinks. Perhaps they weren't religiously in the shadows instead. It didn't matter anyway, the result was the same: discovery, and soon after, destruction.

It was so pitifully easy, to slay them like insects. Even though everyone but him were blessed, they didn't have the power to stand up to those Level Twos. They wielded weapons too impossibly large for any mortal man.

One such weapon that, being reminded by an uncomfortable cold in his stomach, could easily pierce stone and flesh like paper.

The moments before this one, he imagines, were that crumbling of stone on the edge of that impossibly dark hole. The weapon now pierced in his gut saw it fit to bring him down into it, the final will of the adventurer who wielded it. He descended into blackness for so long and…

And….

He was here.

At the bottom of the dungeon, with a slab of cold iron in his gut and bleeding out in a cave within a cave. He would die here, meet his end in a failed attempt at fortune as a fool. Bled out and-

~_Ch-Ch-Chssst~_

His thoughts freeze as he hears it, a strange, juttery call that grows closer. He's never been this far in the dungeon, but his heart sinks as it realizes what it is. What that bone-chilling, utterly inhuman noise means. What will happen to him when the noise gets closer. He asks his own panicked thoughts this, but he knows. He knows.

There's no escape, not in the condition he is, not with how much damage his body has suffered. Weak from blood loss and hunger, he can barely stand, let alone run.

~_Chhsstch~_

There's no way out.

And yet, he feels within him that same conflagration. Gouging, scalding fire that burns like his soul is set aflame. Licks of blazing heat that pain his insides like a feral beast. _That _is proof enough.

His mind brought in by a line of fire, his eyes scan the cramped cave for something, anything. He searches in what he once thought would be his tomb, black dots scanning mausoleum walls. Yet, when they settle on the cross of iron jutting through his chest, he knows that was never the case. Not a tomb, not yet, not until those ever-louder hisses get so close they bite and pierce his ears, tear at his heart.

~_CHHHHSK!~_

It's an arena.


End file.
